


Apparition

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Know Thy Self [6]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angsty Booker | Sebastien le Livre, BAMF Nile Freeman, Catholic Guilt, Clubbing, Dancing, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Moving On, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, cause Nicky ain't the only one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27936462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: "I don't dance.""That's not what I heard."
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Series: Know Thy Self [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953133
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Apparition

Booker let his lips linger on the edge of his glass, the taste of the whiskey settling on his tongue like a fond memory, one he partook in every night. The smoky interior of this club reminded him of dozens of other places, ones that never changed except for the music that blared readily out of the speakers. He still recalled how startling it had been to lose the typical cadence of live performers, the way that choice had led to chaos, freedom in small little hovels around the world. 

A hand brushed along the back of his neck, fond and familiar, prompting him to finally lower his glass, tongue darting out to steal whatever drops were left on his lips. Next to him, Nile sat down on a stool with a tired sigh, eyes twinkling with a joy that he saw too rarely these days. She’d been dancing, enjoying herself among the faceless bodies and sweat now beaded along her brow, slipped invitingly down her temple. 

Booker really needed another drink. 

“Please tell me you didn’t come out just to spend the whole night at the bar?”

He offered a tight smile, “as opposed to doing what?” 

Her eyebrow arched in a sardonic look that he swore she learned from Andy, “oh I don’t know…its not like we’re in a club or anything.”

“I’m not the dancing type,” he replied gruffly, hand going up to signal the bartender for another drink. 

He didn’t make it that far. Nile snagged his hand in her own, her smile going gentle and Booker was not equipped to handle the look in her eye, was finding himself more and more helpless in her presence these days. 

“That’s not what I heard.”

For a moment his heart stops, just once as an agonizing ache resounded through his core, distant memories growing fuzzier with age flashing through his eyes. He used to dance, used to take his wife’s hand and pull her from her chair and back onto her weary feet. She would groan and roll her eyes, but she never turned him away, would let him spin her around the room until she was laughing, the sounds muffled into his shoulder so they wouldn’t wake the children. The only music to dance to being the sound of their beating hearts and shuffling feet. 

“Sebastien?”

Blinking rapidly, he met Nile’s worried gaze, willed himself to accept the reminder and move on. He was trying to be better about that, he wanted to be better about it. A different memory quickly took its place, one that was tinged with mortification, one from a time when it wasn’t only alcohol that tempted him. 

“Joe’s been telling you stories again, hasn’t he?”

The worry dissipated and she was squeezing his hand, tugging him up and off the barstool, “not really,” she confided. “He just implied some things-”

“And you couldn’t help being nosy.”

She winked and he was being guided toward the dance floor where bodies writhed and heaved with the frankly mind-numbing beat of the music. Already he could taste the stench of sweat on his tongue, could feel the claustrophobic pressure of too many people, too many hands around and against him. 

But he didn’t stop her. 

Nile’s hand was still holding his and it was as familiar as his own heart, the callouses rubbing against his own, the way her fingers seemed to fit like a puzzle piece between his. These realizations always came with a warmth in his gut and an ache in his heart. 

The thought of his wife swam before his eyes once more, the ring that he wore around his neck suddenly scorching his skin and he isn’t sure he should be doing this, should be allowing himself this small slice of happiness, isn’t sure that he can survive the guilt. Wonders what his wife would say about this…

“Book,” Nile’s other hand was against his cheek, her eyes searching. “They can’t all be bad memories.”

Her words are simple but wise and he knows that she has been philosophizing with Nicky. Usually, the implication would make his hackles rise, would make him slip away and get lost in a drunken stupor but he’s also been trying to be better about that too…since Merrick and the lab. The effort has been appreciated and each time Nicky gives him a little smile, Joe willingly watches a game with him, and Nile gets that soft look in her eye…well he holds all of those moments like little tokens, little reminders that this is worth it. 

They can’t all be bad memories.

His wife wouldn’t want him to be miserable and she surely wouldn’t want him to spend this life mourning their family, not forever. He has been trying to believe that, to give those thoughts some substance and he finds it easier than he expected, to nod. 

Nile’s hand slips down his throat, fingers lingering before settling on his shoulder, her grip firm. She finally lets go of his other hand, only to settle it on his waist and she is guiding him, slowly pushing his body this way and that, easing him into the beat and the rhythm everyone else is following, her own body doing the same. 

It’s surprisingly easy to sink into, eyes fluttering closed as Nile plays him like he’s a well loved song until it becomes organic, until he is pressing against her and letting his hands wander around her waist, her arms, and when he finally opens his eyes again it is to the most stunning sight. 

Nile has shifted around a bit, her body turned half away from his, her head thrown back as she dances, movements lithe and graceful, muscles flexing in the strobing light, revealing all her hard-work with swordplay lately and Booker wants to pull her close, to bury his face in her neck and her hair and breath her in. 

So, he does. 

She comes willingly, the smile that spreads across her lips brighter than the sun, her arms settling over his shoulders as he holds her against him, still moving to the beat but the room has faded. This feels familiar in a way that almost feels blasphemous, his mind becoming messy as this memory blends with that of his wife and its exactly the same but completely different at the same time. 

When Nile’s laughter echoes in his ear, the guilt does not come. 

It feels like a new beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been really feeling Booker and Nile lately so here you go.


End file.
